The Stars, The Moon, They Have All Been Blown Out
by WelcomeToLondon
Summary: The man ruffles her hair, pulling away from her little grip, giving her a small smile. And he leaves, vanishes into thin air. She blinks once, twice, and wonders if she imagined the whole thing.


_My first shot at this fandom, I attempted a sort of different style of writing while writing this, so if it seems to ramble or get diced, that's the intention. Spoilers for up until Day of The Moon, (here's to hoping I nailed the lake scene), and remember that reviews are love._

_ps. So I just read through it. I think it's crap... oh well. I'll get better, hopefully._

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><p><strong>The Stars, The Moon (they have all been blown out)<strong>

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><p>She cried softly into his bare shoulder, curling her arms into herself. They were nestled between the mounds of the sheets that made up his bed, and he kissed her hair comfortingly, immense sadness weighing his soul. What they'd done was wrong. What they'd done was cruel to her husband, cruel to her, and cruel to him. He rubbed her shoulder, and she yanked away from him with a strangled sob, flying out from under the silken sheets like a wraith in the pale moonlight. She fled from the room, asking, no, <em>begging<em>, the ship to hide her from her husband while she dressed herself.

And the lonely man who bore the weight of nine hundred years of life was left alone, running a hand over his face before standing, quietly, always quietly, dressing, and piloting his ship to safer space. He hates himself more with every step he takes.

Never once cries.

Never once slows.

All he wanted was for her to be happy.

Perhaps that was too much to ask.

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><p><em>I love you.<em>

_I know you think it's him. I know you think it ought to be him, but it's not._

_It's you._

He'd really thought- he'd really hoped.

But no.

_It's a figure of speech, moron._

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><p>Her vision swims angrily as she leans against the bathroom wall, looking down at the stupid, <em>stupid<em> pink plus. She never liked pink. Never liked it at all. She staggers to the sink, bashing it against the white porcelain till the screen flickers out and the little thing isn't even recognizable. She flushes it down the toilet, a wave of sickness washing over her. She grasps the counter, leaning over as the sobs wrack her shoulders and a few noises sneak their way out of her throat.

_Could be Rory's. I've had sex with Rory. Rory's my husband. Could be Rory's-_

**His** voice interrupts her mantra with a soft knock on the door and an "Amy? Are you okay?"

She flings something at the door, screaming. "GO AWAY!"

She hears him stagger into the wall, gasp slightly, and stumble down the corridor.

_Could be Rory's…_

Her fingers flutter angrily over her abdomen, almost hitting it but not quite, not quite able to bring herself to actually hurt the child growing in her.

She couldn't ever hurt it. Couldn't ever hurt a creature that is part of _him._

Yeah, could be Rory's, but honestly, she knows better, and hates herself for it. So she goes, has so much sex with Rory that when the bump begins to show, he really believes it's his.

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><p>She's standing in the shadows of the console room, watching him as he spins around the controls, taking them to another planet, halfway across the galaxy. River knows what's going on, River <em>always<em> knows what's going on and it is kinda infuriating, but right now she's standing next to her and patting her shoulder comfortingly.

She really doesn't pay River much attention; she's a bit busy watching him run around at breakneck speed. She can't help but wonder why he doesn't trip, wonders what would happen if he _did_ trip, and thinks that he'd probably remove much skin from his head. She watches him breathe, watches him avoid her eyes, and with a jolt, she realizes.

She _realizes_.

That this man, this breathing, hurting man, will die in two hundred years' time, and has _already_ died, six months ago.

She thinks she's going to be sick.

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><p>"Take us home," she all but whispers, cradling her swelling stomach with protective ease. He's got blood trickling down the side of his face, the cost of their most recent adventure, and his head jerks up from where it was bent over the current something. Rory sits beside her, laying comforting kisses on her forehead.<p>

They had come so close this time, so close to losing it all, and she needed _out_ before she broke wholly and completely cracked.

He stares at her for a moment that lasts forever, his eyes unreadable. He blinks, wincing slightly as the blood trickles into his eyes.

"Yeah. Okay then," he says, setting the coordinates for Leadworth. The TARDIS grinds to life, singing softly.

"Rory," she begins gently, looking at her husband with tenderness. "I need to talk to the Doctor. Go pack."

Rory left like the dutiful husband he always was and always would be, leaving her alone with the Doctor. She didn't waste any time.

"I need out. I'm sorry."

"I understand," he said, smirking sadly, knowingly. "It always happens, at some point or another."

"So then there won't be a need for a goodbye."

"No," he says, moving towards her so their shoulders almost touch. He leans down, whispers softly into her ear. "Don't suppose it's mine, eh?"

She jerks back, glaring at him and answers quickly, too quickly. "No. Of course not." She pivots, and stalks to the corridor that leads to her and Rory's room. As an afterthought, she rushes back, plants a kiss on his cheek, and fixes his bow-tie, adds in a whisper. "I love you, Raggedy Man, so much it hurts. But you said it yourself, it'd never work, and I am married now. This child is Rory's, will always be Rory's, and I don't want to see you again. Ever. Understand?"

He looks down, break away from her, and absentmindedly plays will the console. "Right. We've landed."

Then he leaves, proud and tall, eyes storming and expression unreadable. He wanders down a corridor, disappearing into the depths of the TARDIS, and she knows that this will be the last time she sees him, but it won't be the last time he sees her.

_Then_ it will be the last time.

She swallows the wave of sorrow, and goes to meet Rory.

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><p>Her child is born, and she smiles down at her sweet baby girl, pleased to note that there is no extra heart, or heartbreakingly blue eyes. She takes after Rory, which she almost laughs at, wondering how completely lucky she got in this whole ordeal. She feels the weight of nine months of worry slide off her shoulders as a newer, smaller one takes its place in her arms. She coddles the child, pets down the tuft of blondish hair as the baby burrows into her mother.<p>

Rory smiles down at his girls, feeling himself melt.

From the corner of the room, a man watches from under the shields, and now having seen his child born, takes the breaks off and disappears without a sound.

They name her Alice.

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><p>Her child is six, dark blonde hair pulled into pigtails, wearing a little knit jumper.<p>

She lets her go to the park because nothing bad ever happens in Upper Leadworth, not in real life anyways. When her child is at the park, she teeters on the wall of the castle, nearly falling over and onto the ground twenty feet below.

Just as the startled scream is working its way from her throat, a hand darts out and grabs her arm, pulling her into a tight embrace and away from the edge. Her eyes are wide as she's set back down on the grass. The man, who probably just saved her life, kisses her forehead, and she doesn't find this strange at all. It almost feels like this is how it should be, like it should be this man tucking her in at night and telling her bedtime stories, not her own dad. She immediately feels guilty for thinking this, and the man ruffles her hair, pulling away from her little grip, giving her a small smile. And he leaves, vanishes into thin air.

She blinks once, twice, and wonders if she imagined the whole thing.

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><p>He knows what happened to her, now. Knows that she eventually finds her way back to her mother. They defeated the Silents and all that. She almost doesn't take back her daughter, given that she <em>did<em> regenerate, near concrete proof that the child is not Rory's. But Rory wants to believe that she is his, and so he creates this theory that having been surrounded by time travel for the first six months of pregnancy shifted her anatomy slightly.

He watched her grow up, kept her safe, chased off the demons in the night. He had to. She was his _daughter._

It's through her that he found out how he dies.

He was petting down her hair in the middle of the night, and her subconscious locked onto his. She was fourteen years old at the time, in her second regeneration, and she still had Rory tell her stories at night. The one that was influencing her dreams was one that he'd never heard before.

A story of a man, a Stetson, a gun slinging maverick, a lake, and an astronaut. It was a tragedy.

He reeled back as if he'd been bit, stumbling back to his TARDIS, shutting the door firmly behind him. He breathed slowly, shutting his eyes tightly. He was one thousand eighty five years old, and he only had eighteen years left.

He gritted his teeth, and ran, refusing to cry.

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><p>The sun bore down on him, leaking in under his closed lids. He bowed his head, refusing to look at the astronaut. The water of the lake lapped gingerly a foot away. The astronaut raised its arm, and he braced himself.<p>

The impact came like he expected it to. Then the second, and he could feel the burning of the regeneration flood through his veins and ebb out through his skin.

Oh, **God**, he didn't want to- he couldn't- there had to be a way out of this…

Because when it came down to it, for the past eleven hundred and three years he'd always had a way out of dying. Dying had come to mean regenerating, and now, well. Now dying meant dying, and he didn't know what was waiting for him. The thought frightened him.

So he looked up, making eye contact with his three horror-struck companions. With Amy.

"I'm sorry," his last.

He was falling apart, and he could sense it showing on his face. His breaths were coming shorter, faster, more choked. The regeneration began with its full fury, and the third impact came-

Dying took less time than he thought it would.

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><p><strong>End<strong>


End file.
